by Tom Hansen
“You told us that she was on the flight from Chicago to Tampa the next morning, right?” Johnny asked hesitantly. “It could be more than just a coincidence that she met up with Jackson shortly before dy-” Johnny stopped abruptly, trying not to cause any more emotional suffering for Lew.
“Dying,” said Lew, finishing Johnny’s sentence. “Go ahead, you can say it. But I know what you are thinking and that’s pure insanity! You think Roy Jackson had something to do with that airplane crash, right? How could he have caused that disaster? Impossible!”
“I hope you’re right, Lew. Jackson’s an idiotic ass, but he’s been involved in all sorts of suspected crimes in Seminole Bend. I don’t know how he would pull this off, but as an officer of the law, I’m not going to rule out the possibility that he’s a terrorist, too.”
“He’s having coffee with my wife one day in Pennsylvania and the next day he’s killing Phil Bennett in a Seminole Bend hospital! Why is the man not in jail, damn it?” Lew was upset and angry. “If he’s been involved in multiple crimes, as you say, why is he still functioning outside the walls of a damn prison?!”
“Sheriff Bonty covers for him. I don’t know why, but Willy was close to finding out something when he was fired.”
“Yep, sure was!” pitched in Otis from the back seat. “Willy will tell us soon as we find him.”
Lew shifted into gear and floored it, squealing rubber from his tires and throwing up gravel at the parked cars. Johnny perked up in his seat and gripped the dash with his fingertips. “Want me to drive,” he asked, but didn’t look at Lew. He was afraid to take his eyes off the road.
“Nope. I can handle it!” Lew replied with a look of determination mixed with desperation. He passed the first car going 104 in a forty-five zone. Otis, Lance and Pancho felt around for their seat belts. They found them, but weren’t sure how they worked. They had never buckled up before in their lives.
CHAPTER 67
Saturday, March 13, 1982
11:15 a.m.
“Y ou got a minute, Jack?” asked Agent Tecka as he opened the door to Agent Jones’ office.
“Sure, Tom. Come on in. What’s up?” replied Agent Jones as he motioned for Tecka to sit down.
“Got a couple of things back from the lab. Strange things, Jack.”
“Hit me. What do you got?”
Agent Tecka laid down two manila envelopes, each with a white label stuck on the upper left corner. A case number was printed on each one. He opened the first envelope and took out the report, then slid it across the desk to Agent Jones.
“Remember that finger with a wedding ring on it that was found at the scene of the Miami midair crash?”
“Yep. The finger had AB blood type and we assumed it belonged to Sheryl Berry. Why?”
“Well, here’s the strange thing. The finger belongs to the hand that was found next to it, but the hand doesn’t fit the unidentified body nearby.”
“Explain, please Tom.”
“The unidentified burned body definitely was missing a hand, but our forensic staff says the severed hand found next to it was too small to come from that body.”
“So, there must have been other bodies close by. Could it have come from a different body than the one we thought?”
“No other bodies we found were missing a hand, Jack. That’s what’s curious.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Tom?”
“The hand on the unidentified body was most likely removed after the accident and the hand with the finger cut off was placed next to it as a set up to lead us on a wild goose chase.”
Agent Jones paused a moment to digest what Agent Tecka had reported, then said, “That would mean a crime was committed before the airplane accident.”
“Much more than that, Jack.” Agent Tecka stared directly at Agent Jones and both realized the magnitude of the report. “If the hand was placed at the scene, someone knew that there was going to be an airplane crash in the vicinity that night, and most likely knew he could find a body to go with the hand they had just cut off!”
“So you’re saying the plane accident may not have been a control tower malfunction mixed with bad weather? You think someone on the ground caused two airplanes to crash in the air?” Agent Jones mulled over the possibility in his mind. “What’s worse, the crash over Lake Okeechobee this week was a midair collision, too. Could it be possible the same person or people are responsible for causing that?” Angst could be detected from the voice inflection of both FBI agents. “I hate to ask, but what’s in the other report?”
Agent Tecka opened the second envelope and pulled out another report. “We got prints back already from the break-in to Berry’s truck at the auto lot. It was an easy search. The fingerprints belong to a man named Willy Banks. No record, but get this. He’s a cop in the Seminole Bend sheriff’s department. I tried to call up there to verify but no one was answering. I assume everyone’s out at the scene of the crash.”
“The prints belong to a deputy sheriff?” Agent Jones considered the unthinkable. “He breaks into a truck belonging to Brett Berry. Why didn’t he ask us instead? He’s an officer of the law. We would have tried to work things out together with a Seminole Bend investigation, wouldn’t we?”
“What are you getting at, Jack? I’m not sure I follow you.”
“Coach Berry is married to Sheryl who was kidnapped at the basketball game, then an unidentified body is found in Brett’s truck after it rolls into a culvert. We are guessing someone maneuvered the vehicle using a radio remote control device and video camera. Then we assume Sheryl was on the flight that crashed in Miami. Now we think Sheryl’s hand was placed at the scene of what is no longer an accident, but an act of terrorism or mass murder on two passenger jets. Then a Seminole Bend’s sheriff’s deputy secretly removes something from the steering wheel in Berry’s truck and disappears. I think we are dealing with more than a coincidence here, Tom.”
“If that was a remote control device in Berry’s truck, why do you think Deputy Banks removed it? This is getting quite complex, Jack!”
“I know. Then add the fact that Lew’s wife, Janet Berry, was on the flight manifest for the Tampa crash, it becomes way too coincidental. We need to find Banks. What do we know?”
“He escaped on foot and was last seen running down Tamiami Trail. Where to, no one knows.”
“Let’s go out there and take a look ourselves. Grab your weapon and meet me at my car.”
* * * * *
Agents Jones and Tecka began their search at the auto impound facility where they were shown the exit point in the fence that Willy used to elude the authorities. Then they examined the broken down shack with an outhouse that was presumed to be along Willy’s escape route. By the edge of the property leading into the swamp was a blood-soaked tail of a very furry dog, most likely the FBI’s German shepherd. Jones and Tecka assumed the serial killer gator wanted to leave a trophy behind.
They returned to their vehicle and drove down Tamiami Trail until they reached the new Everglades Estates housing development. They pulled into the driveway of a model home that was being used as a sales office. A middle-aged brunette gal wearing a smart gray business suit was hastily marching around the property. She was madly shaking a heavy object in the air and muttering to herself. “Damn vagrants!” is what Agent Tecka heard as he was opening the car door. Because of her anger, she hadn’t noticed the FBI car pull into the model home’s driveway, and she was startled to see two men in blue suits approach her.
Jones and Tecka flashed their badges at the same time while introducing themselves to the saleslady. “I’m Agent Jack Jones, FBI ma’am. This is Agent Tom Tecka. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind?”
“Don’t mind?” replied Karen Morris, who seemed a bit agitated at the moment. “You came at the right time!”
“Right time?” asked Agent Jones. “What do you mean by that?”
Karen raised a crowbar in her right ha
nd. “Someone broke into our model home with this. Used our shower and left the place a damn mess! I was going to show the house in a couple of hours to a prospective customer. Well, that just ain’t gonna happen now, is it?!”
Jones and Tecka glanced at each other, then Tecka asked Karen, “Mind if I take a look at that crowbar?” The saleslady handed it to him.
“It’s from an old Nash Rambler,” said Tecka to Jones as he pointed at something etched on the iron bar. “Back in the day when American Motors bought out the Nash company, they used to engrave the words The Kenosha Cadillac on the Rambler’s fenders, mirrors and even spare tire crowbars. It was some marketing symbol or something.”
“On a crowbar, how ridiculous is that?” replied Jones. He looked over to Karen Morris and asked, “Would you mind if we take a peek at the house?”
“Sure, why not?” answered Morris. “But that’s not why you’re here. What were those questions you wanted to ask me?”
“You may have already answered them. We wanted to know if you had seen someone unusual around here early this morning.”
“Well, I just got here a short while ago and was going to prep the house for my client when I noticed the break-in. Didn’t see anyone, but I assumed whoever broke in was some homeless guy wanting a shower. Strange, though, he left his clothes on the floor in the master bathroom. They were almost ripped to shreds and all bloody. I wonder what he changed into?”
Jones and Tecka followed Karen up to the house and then into the master bathroom. Jones picked up the abandoned clothing and checked the labels. Size forty waist on the pants and an XXL shirt. “Big fella, this guy.”
The FBI agents offered to call the local police for Karen to report the break-in, but Karen said she would take care of it herself. They thanked the saleslady for her time, got into their car and radioed a request for information back to the office. Jones and Tecka waited in the driveway for a response. It came fifteen minutes later.
“Jack,” said the voice on the speaker. “According to the Florida Motor Vehicle Division, there are only a handful of Nash Ramblers still licensed in the state. And yes, one belongs to a man up in Seminole Bend named Willy Banks. Our databank lists him as a deputy sheriff for that county. Hope that helps!”
“Roger that. Appreciate you finding out fast! Over.”
Jones hung up the receiver and said to Tecka, “So Willy Banks used his own personal vehicle, which means he wasn’t on official business. Didn’t think so. Put out an APB for the Nash Rambler. There ain’t many down here, so it shouldn’t be all that hard to find.”
“You think Banks is a good guy or a bad guy, Jack?”
“Someone who breaks into an FBI impounded vehicle lot for the purpose of burglary can’t be all that good, now can he, Tom?”
“Where to next, Jack?”
* * * * *
“Hold on, Jack!” screamed Agent Tecka. “Hit the brakes!”
Jones and Tecka were headed for Seminole Bend and traveling north on the Florida Turnpike when Tecka spotted a black car speeding southward on the other side of the divided highway. The FBI agents were in the left lane and boxed in by other traffic to their right, so Jones slammed on the pedal and pulled off into the median.
“That’s a Trans Am rental!” howled Tecka as he pointed at the car racing towards them. As the car whizzed by, both agents noticed the yellow and black Hertz plate on the front and saw that the man driving looked like Lew Berry. “The car looks like the one Berry had rented for the week and it sure looked like him driving.”
“I think your right. But the car was full of people. Lew doesn’t know anyone down here since his son died. What’s going on? And why is he driving like a bat out of hell?”
“We need to find out. Follow him!”
Jones made a U-turn in the muddy median and pulled out into the southbound traffic, then pounced on the accelerator. “Turn on the flasher. We need to have him pull over.”
Tecka placed the blue light on the dash and was about to flick the switch when a thought occurred and he paused. “Maybe we should just follow him, Jack. If he doesn’t know anyone up in Seminole Bend, it’s possible he’s been hijacked by those other passengers. Let’s see where they’re taking him.”
Agent Jones nodded and slowed to 105 mph, then shook his head and muttered, “Damn!”. He calculated that the Trans Am was flying down the road near 120 mph, all while weaving in and out of traffic. It was a Saturday in March and there were loads of Spring Breakers headed for the Keys. “He’s going to kill somebody driving like that! I’m not sure how long we can stay on his tail.”
Less than a half hour later, the Trans Am slowed and exited at the Campbell Drive tollbooth. Three cars back was the FBI’s dark blue Ford LTD, and both Jones and Tecka breathed a deep sigh of relief that everyone on the turnpike had survived. Jones flashed his badge at the tollbooth operator and they pulled quickly out onto Campbell Drive.
Lew and company turned south on the Dixie Highway, then headed west towards the Everglades. A mile before the entrance to America’s southernmost national park, Lew turned onto a service road. Jones and Tecka followed and noticed a small brown sign with white embossed letters that was posted next to the intersection. The sign read, Florida Department of Natural Resources. Jones looked over at his partner and Tecka just shrugged his shoulders.
A quarter-mile down the road, tucked behind some shrubs, was an abandoned Nash Rambler. The FBI agents caught a flash of light as the sun reflected off the fender, and they stopped their car to investigate. Moments later they were barreling down the road headed for the DNR office.
CHAPTER 68
Saturday, March 13, 1982
2:00 p.m.
W illy had been knocked unconscious by the butt of the guard’s submachine gun seconds after opening the door to the video room in the small house. The guard struggled mightily, but managed to lift the gigantic sheriff’s deputy and put him in a wheelbarrow. He then rolled him for a mile back to the DNR office, stopping every thirty or so yards to catch his breath. Once there, he strapped every inch of Willy to a chair with duct tape. Willy looked like a silver mummy that decided to spend eternity in a sitting position.
The guard saw the Trans Am slam on its brakes in the parking lot and he readied himself by pointing the Colt 9mm SMG at the front door. But no one entered. He walked over to the window and glanced out. For some strange reason, it appeared that there were four bodies slumped down in the seats, all peeking out the back window, while someone dressed in a police uniform was standing in the middle of the lot with a handgun pointed in the direction of the service road. The guard flinched and slid to the other side of the window to get a better view. As soon as he had arrived at the DNR office, he tried to call Governor Daughtry to tell him about the break-in to his video room and that he had the perpetrator tied up, but he got no answer. Should he try to call again?
Seconds later, a dark blue Ford LTD drove up the service road and then slammed on its brakes when the driver noticed a weapon pointed at his vehicle. The man in the uniform approached the car slowly, never dropping his aim, then motioned with his revolver for the driver and his passenger to get out. Both front doors of the LTD opened and two men dressed in dark suits exited with their hands raised over their heads. The driver said something to the uniformed man, then reached in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a badge. The passenger did the same. The uniformed man holstered his pistol, flashed his own badge, and began to chat with the men. Then, a man wearing a Penn State sweatshirt got out of the Trans Am and walked up to the two men in the suits.
“Jones and Tecka, what are you doing here?” shouted the Penn State man as he approached.
“We were about to ask you the same question, Lew,” answered Agent Jones. “We were headed to Seminole Bend when we saw your Trans Am flying down the road like a bat out of hell on the other side of the turnpike. What are you doing at the DNR office?”
Johnny Murphree, who had buckled his weapon firmly in his holster
, interrupted. “So you are the FBI agents that are investigating Sheryl Berry’s kidnapping?”
“Yes, that’s how we know Lew. Why are you with him?” Agent Jones knew Johnny was a Seminole Bend sheriff’s deputy after their short introduction, but that was all.
“We’re here looking for my partner.”
“You’re looking for your partner riding with your uniform on in a rented vehicle?” Agent Jones stared at Johnny with a skeptical look. “That sounds a bit strange, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s a long story, but never mind that. I noticed you following us as we exited at Homestead. Before we answer any questions, I’d like to know why the FBI would bother to pursue someone speeding? Why not just call the highway patrol?”
“We recognized the car first and then saw Lew driving with a carload of passengers. We didn’t think Lew knew enough folks in Florida for a beach excursion to a southern Florida resort, so we were suspicious thinking he may have been apprehended.”
“Why were you going to Seminole Bend, Jack?” asked Lew. “Looking for me?”
“Actually no, and maybe Deputy Murphree here can answer a question for us, which will explain the reason we were headed up there.” Agent Jones glanced from Lew back to Johnny. “Is there a Willy Banks currently working for the sheriff’s department?”
Lew and Johnny shot a puzzled look at each other while Otis, Lance and Pancho walked up and joined the group.
“Deputy Banks is, or I should say was, the partner I was looking for. We knew he had come down here to talk to the DNR supervisor about something. Think his name is Sam Dulie. But we don’t see Willy’s car anywhere, so he must have left.”
Before Agent Jones could respond, Otis piped in. “Willy Banks, he’s my brother.” Otis placed his hands on his hips and gave Agent Jones an evil stare. “What you want with him?”
Lance wasn’t about to be left out. “Yea, and Willy’s my boss. Like Otis say, what you want with him?”